Life as dogs. And life in general.

May 15, 2008

A Thurber Thumping

'Clark Gable of A Fable', or:'The Wire In Rabbit's Clothing'.

"Gimlet in Disguise", digital pen by Gimlet Rose, 2008.

Where have I been all this time?Buried under mounds of fur, that's where.I'm so furry that my paws slip off the keyboard. No blogging for me.I finally resorted to dictation. Joe, are you getting all this?You know what I've discovered? Things are different when your looks change; even if the change is for the furrier, or the better, things are different.Am I a Shetland pony? A small, white buffalo or an Addams relation? No one recognizes me as a wire fox terrier these days.But is this good, or bad? What's it like being a furry me?Let me tell you a story...

I was out in the front yard, not yet garden, sitting in one of the old wrought iron chairs and reading "John Adams." Do I read like other dogs? Definitely not. I scan the indexes, on the looksee for characters and words that pique my interest. Only when I find enough of those, to fill me in on the book's skeleton, do I go back and read the narrative.

That's what works for me.

My book is open, my furry paws barely able to turn the pages, when our resident rabbit hops by. That's Marshall, the marsh rabbit, who lives in our ferns and azaleas. We'd never formally met, but I had seen him from a distance. He's skittish.

Marshall asked me what had happened to my ears. What did he mean by that, I wondered ... what had happened to my ears? I felt ...there were two of them.

Did I hear right? He thinks my ears are weird? Weird ears?

Marshall stopped in front of my chair and peered right through my black nose "What happened to your ears?"

Now I was worried. Not as worried as John Adams when the British were acting up in Massachusetts, but worried enough that I had to feel my ears. Only my paws were so furry I couldn't really make contact with them. At this point Marshall was looking at me I were E.T., the extra terrierestrial.

Or, Cousin Ittish.

The state of my condition was, and is, extreme furriness. My mind was blurred, too, by visions of rabbits with watches and John Adamses with horsehair wigs and Founding Fathers of whom we really don't know much about. So much gets past us ...

I worry. I worry that I am too furry now, to read, to pass as a wire... I cannot feel my ears. What's wrong with me? What is Marshall looking at so intently?

"Rabbit, whoever you are, reading that book on John Adams, whatever happened to your ears? They're very short. Not that I usually point such things out ... but, you are a very exceptional looking rabbit."

He thought I was a rabbit. My fur is so vast and fluffy he thinks I am a rabbit with very short ears. I've fooled a rabbit and pulled his leg ... and I've fooled my family into thinking this furry look is just fine. They really believe they're doing me a favor, not yanking my fur out. Of course, I do look much bigger this way ... I'm intimidating, is what I am. Only Marshall is unafraid of me. He thinks I'm a rabbit with very short ears.

John Adams often wore a horsehair wig. That was the fashion of the time, and of his class. He wore a wig when he wasn't wearing a tricorner hat or something very LaCroix. Our founding father followed fashion.

Is a hat next for me? A wig? No, not a wig. I may be able to go into wig manufacturing with all my fur. Lucille Ball and I share something in common: redheads!

Would I have fooled Lucy? No. She was from Jamestown, New York and probably would have appreciated my look. It's different. It's a little John Adams, a little Charles Addams...